5 headcanons: the eldest Upapandava(s) join their parents in exile. Can headcanon Prativindhya and/or Sutasom as being ~15-16.

1. “Don’t you always say,” Draupadi says crossly, “that you want to see your uncle more often? Then do as I say, and go with him.”

Her sons, though, are as stubborn as she, and hold their ground. 

“We won’t let you go into danger alone,” Sutasoma says, trying his best to mimic his father with his hands akimbo; instead, she thinks all her sons, every one of them, look like nothing so much as children afraid of the dark and crawling into their parents’ bed. 

“Very well,” she says at last; for she does not trust the vengeance of the Kurus to find them even in Kampilya or Dwaraka, and Sutasoma staggers forward into her arms. 

2. Prativindhya, as much as he hates to admit it, is not terribly gifted at any part of survival in the wilderness. The gnats swarm around him, more so than any of his brothers, the rough grass they’re meant to sleep on prickles at his back, and without the benefit of a chariot, every animal he tries to hunt easily outraces him. 

He would die rather than admit any of this. 

Nothing is hidden from Uncle Sahadeva, though, not for long, and in passing, apropos of nothing, his youngest uncle says: “Fish stay where they’re meant to, you know.”

He’s not wrong. Prativindya arms himself with spear and bait, and perches above the river. When he comes home at last, it is with enough bounty to call himself worthy of being a Pandava’s son. 

3. Abhimanyu is too young to come see them. Srutakarma knows this, he does, just like he does the fact that his brother is just a baby, younger even than Srutakarma, but: he misses him terribly, oh, he does. 

“If I’d gone to Kampilya, like Mother wanted,” Srutakarma muses aloud, “would I able to see him more often?”

He asks Eldest Uncle this, because Eldest Uncle never lies, not even to make you feel better. 

He ought to have thought of that, though, when Eldest Uncle says: “Certainly you would have,” but also: “But then you should have only thought of the brothers who weren’t with you instead.”

Srutakarma considers that. “I don’t make it very easy for myself to be happy, do I?” he asks at last.

“We none of us do,” replies Eldest Uncle, and his smile does not reach his eyes.

4. Shatanika offers to go for water when Mother mentions she’s parched, but, when a disembodied voice speaks out from the lake, has the sense to stop filling his quiver. 

“Forgive me,” he says politely, “I didn’t realize it was yours. Might you know where I might find some more water for my mother?”

A pause, and a laugh. “Far too well-spoken to be taught by your parents,” the voice says. “Tell me, boy, who trained you to speak like a fortune-teller’s parrot?”

Is there an insult there? Shatanika can’t decide. “Uncle Krishna always says it’s easier to catch flies with honey rather than vinegar, though,” he adds doubtfully, “I can’t see why anyone would want flies.”

The voice is resigned when it next speaks. “You are too kind to be tricked into discourtesy, son of Nakula,” it proclaims, “and you I must ask your cooperation rather than seek your punishment. This is a test for your father and uncles, not you.”

“Will it be difficult?” Shatanika wants to know. 

“Not very,” the voice answers, and Shatanika is about to agree when he remembers why he’s there.

“If I help, will Mother have her water?”

“Certainly,” says the voice, and so Shatanika nods–and that is the last thing he knows. 

5. Matsya might be a kingdom fine and wondrous, but does it have his favorite tree, or the deer he’s spent so much time taming to come to his hand? Srutasena thinks not. 

He does not disgrace himself by asking if they might not forget Hastinapur, might not forego the conditions of their exile, and just stay behind; but with Uncle Bhima, he need not speak. 

Uncle Bhima settles down beside him, smelling of spices and salt, and murmurs: “You and your brothers are not the first set of Kuru princes to come to manhood in the woods, you know, nor the first to find it far more pleasing than the court.”

“It’s just–simpler,” Srutasena struggles to explain. “No one cares if you say the wrong thing. No one laughs or mocks you for a mistake. They just are.”

“I know,” says Uncle Bhima. “Oh, I know, my son.”

He does not apologize to Srutasena, or explain why it must be so. He only sits beside him in silence through the sunset, and even until nightfall.